This morning, I found myself in my usual half-sleep, urging my partner NOT to go in and kiss our son goodbye, in the vague hope that he would have a lie-in (as if!). Boo woke while Darren busied himself downstairs and he toddled in to me, ready for the day. Darren came back upstairs (most unusual) and I assumed he had heard the elephant thud of little feet (whoever said it was a pitter patter?!) and couldn’t resist that morning farewell.
However, Darren’s face was not what I expected at all. The subsequent deep inhalation with the line ‘Right….I’m going to tell you this….’ was an indication of his expectation of my usual response to fly off the handle and/or burst into tears!
Somehow, overnight, the kitchen carpet had gone from being dull and uninteresting to being 80% sodden with cold water which was also dripping into the cellar with no obvious sign of where the flood was coming from. I rolled my eyes, agreed to call the plumber (after I realised it was Tuesday and NOT Saturday after all!), told Darren that no, I didn’t need him to call into work to say he wasn’t coming in (he was clearly worried that I was hiding a volcanic eruption!) and stayed in bed for just that little bit longer.
As it happens, the damage was caused by a very small but very persistent leak from a worn out washer (I know how it feels!) which wasn’t terminal by any means, but I do confess to leaving the soaking wet towels on the floor and generally avoiding the kitchen at all costs until ‘Daddy’ could come home to the rescue. I did call the insurance company and I congratulate myself for getting as much as that done, but I probably should have got the wet carpet up before it starts stinking the house out, or at least done a bit more towards drying it out than opening the windows.
I’m so over emergencies these days!